The next victim was a CIA agent, a man who had recently retired after a very successful career in Europe and moved to the Hamptons with his wealthy young wife. By the time Will arrived on the scene, the CIA had their investigator on site. Interagency cooperation being what it was and the Central Intelligence Agency being what it was, no one wanted to allow him behind the crime scene tape. Thankfully, the Secretary had foreseen this complication and put in a call to the investigator's section chief. As soon as Will appeared, a phone rang, and there were a lot of "Yes, sirs" before he waved Will through.

The scene was eerily similar to Amy Rastenburger's home. Dead agent, no bullet, wiped clean. Agent Bill Hanigan's wife had found him when she returned home from a long weekend with her aging mother. The only sign of tampering came from her instinctive reaction to go to her husband's side and cradle his dead body. Even now, she sat in a chair, her eyes glued to her husband, and trembled. She'd remember this night for years, and Will hated to see the haunted expression already taking over her face.

The CIA investigator moved to Will's side. "You've got some résumé, Mr. Brandt."

Will shook his hand and shrugged. "Just doing my job, Agent. . . ?"

"Oliver. Terrence Oliver."

Will didn't doubt it was an alias. "What do we have here?" he asked, pulling gloves from his pocket and walking carefully around the crime scene. The forensics team had cleared a section of carpet all around the place, marking it off with paper for walking. As he circled the body, Will pulled on the gloves while he studied everything from the way Agent Hanigan was facing to the directionality of the blood splatter. His job as an analyst had taught him many things, and his time as an agent had forced him to become a jack-of-all-trades. Unfortunately, he'd become all too familiar with forensics.

Oliver followed, pointing with a pen as he spoke. "From what we can tell, Agent Hanigan welcomed his killer into his home. Mrs. Hanigan found him lying with his back to the door as if he knew his visitor and trusted him."

"Or her," Will murmured. He'd learned the hard way not to underestimate a woman.

Oliver conceded the point with a nod of his head. "Mrs. Hanigan ran to her husband's side, automatically assuming he could be helped. She dialed 911, which resulted in a police presence before we arrived. By then, she'd learned he was already dead and simply sat, cradling him until the paramedics forced her to put him down."

Will's eyes rose to the wife. She'd gone from trembling to rocking, a shredded Kleenex pressed to her mouth. The absolutely shattered expression told him she was innocent, but he couldn't rule out her acquaintances just yet. "And you arrived on the scene when?"

"Twenty minutes after the police arrived." Oliver looked out the window to the beach just visible at this distance. "There are protocols in place to handle this, Mr. Brandt. But his wife didn't know. . . ."

Will nodded once, not needing an explanation. "Mind if I talk to her?"

Oliver waved as if to say, "Be my guest."

Will crossed the room on the paper and approached the chair where Mrs. Hanigan sat. He crouched. "Mrs. Hanigan. I'm William Brandt with the Department of Transportation."

Her tear-filled blue eyes swung over to meet his. "What does the Department of Transportation have to do with my. . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, motioning to the body of her husband now being loaded on a stretcher. The panic that crossed her face told Will she was about to interfere with the CIA's work.

"Hey." He took her hand, holding it tightly and firmly pinning her attention on him. "The DoT just lost one of ours, as well. We're cooperating with the police and Mr. Oliver over there to find out who did this." He paused while that sunk in. "Anything you can tell us would be a big help."

Mrs. Hanigan took a deep breath. "I just came home. He was just. . .lying there! Oh, God!" Her face paled and then went green, prompting Will to dive for the trash can well away from the center of the crime scene. He barely got it under Mrs. Hanigan's head in time for her stomach to lose all of its contents. Will stayed there, one hand supportively on her shoulder while she finished purging. When she was done, she passed a shaking hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Will handed the trash can and its vile contents off to a paramedic while another moved in to hand Mrs. Hanigan a bottle of water. When he caught the paramedic's discreetly-flashed badge, he continued, "I need you to go upstairs and change clothes. The paramedic's going to go with you to make sure you're okay. You just walked into a nightmare, and we want to keep you from going deeper into shock. Okay?"

Mrs. Hanigan nodded and shakily pushed to her feet. Will stood with her, helping steady her before handing her off to the female agent masquerading as a paramedic. As soon as they disappeared upstairs, Oliver reappeared at his right shoulder. "Thank you. We've been trying to pry her away since we got here."

Will kept his eyes on the top of the staircase. "Cut her some slack, Oliver. She just found her husband lying in a pool of his own blood." He turned and pinned the other man in place. "What's your cover for this?" When Oliver blinked, he lowered his voice. "Let's be real. You're no more a police detective than I am an employee of the Department of Transportation. Cut the crap and tell me what you're using as a cover."

Oliver's lip curled in a barely-repressed snarl. "You're a piece of work, Brandt." Then, he sighed. "FBI. Once he retired from the field, Hanigan's cover for his family was that he flew a desk for the FBI."

Will nodded his thanks.

As Oliver moved off, he went back to his examination of the crime scene. Something about this just didn't sit right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the way this killer operated really got under his skin. Almost like he'd seen this MO before. His mind automatically started sorting the various missions he'd been on over the years, looking for a similarity and finding none. That didn't mean it didn't exist, though. He just needed to go through case histories.

Mrs. Hanigan reappeared at that moment, still pale but looking better in jeans and a warm shirt. The "paramedic" handed the evidence kit over to the forensics team while the fallen agent's wife crossed to Will's side. "You'll find him?" she asked.

Will nodded. "I promise." Part of him wanted to cringe at that. He'd seen numerous TV shows and heard too many horror stories where investigators promised something they couldn't deliver. It had become cliché. Now, faced with the same situation, he understood. The bereaved needed something—anything—to believe in, and that simple promise of finding the killer gave them an anchor.

Mrs. Hanigan allowed herself to be led out of the house and toward her parents' home. An agent would follow her at all times, hopefully never being seen. For just a moment, Will was lost in memory of the last time he'd been on a protection detail. But the Hamptons were a far cry from Croatia, and it was standard procedure to keep the victim's family under surveillance. If Agent Hanigan's murder had anything to do with his work for the CIA, then the killer could go after his widow as well.

Oliver and Will wrapped up the crime scene after that, the two agents walking toward their respective cars as the sun set. Oliver was tired, but Will was too keyed up to really care. He kept going over the two crime scenes in his mind, disturbed at the familiarity they triggered. Why couldn't he remember where he'd seen this MO before?

Oliver finally faced him. "I'll forward you my case files, you forward me yours?"

Will nodded. "Sounds good." He handed over a card with the DoT logo and his contact information. "These two cases are too similar."

"Yeah, but I'm not getting the connection between a DoT pencil-pusher and Hanigan."

Will smiled. "Sometimes, the connection's there. You just don't see it."

"You know you sound like one of those CSI shows, right?"

Will shrugged and climbed into his car. As he drove away, he sighed. Mrs. Hanigan, with her fair skin and blond hair, had slightly resembled Noelle Blake. Granted, Noelle had much longer hair and brown eyes, but the similarities were close enough to make him think about her. And, not for the first time, he breathed a sigh of relief that he'd kept himself from falling in love with her. Seeing the grief on Mrs. Hanigan's face had been intense enough. He really didn't want to know what Noelle's face would look like, not after their long walk on the beach. Noelle had seen enough grief to last her a lifetime.

He spent the rest of the night driving and then going over Amy Rastenburger's case file, ensuring that it was prepared for the CIA. When the sun finally rose, he sat back in his chair.

This case had just taken a strange turn, though Will couldn't exactly figure out what it was. Still, he'd learned his gut often had a pretty good grasp on reality, and it now said something was wrong. Very wrong. And, somehow, he was connected to it.

oOo

A week after finding the journal, Noelle arrived home from work to find Travis in her driveway. He looked as if he'd been sitting there for hours and had the audacity to glare at her. She squeezed her van around his car, reveling in the way he cringed when she came rather close to scraping it, and parked in her spot. She made a quick call to Greta, speaking only a few words for the other woman to know what was going on. Then, when she climbed out of her van, she sighed. "I'm tired and just had a long day at work, so make it quick."

Travis scoffed. "You work?"

Noelle just stared at him, Will's words about not letting him control her in her home ringing through her head. For years, Travis had used words to browbeat her, and she'd thought she'd gotten away. But, for some reason, he kept turning up. For just a moment, she regretted that Will was back in DC rather than here.

When she didn't rise to his bait, Travis looked around. "So, where's your boyfriend?"

"He's my landlord, and he doesn't live here." She folded her arms. "I do, and I'm within my rights to call the police and have you removed from the property."

Travis's eyebrows rose when he realized she'd positioned herself between him and the house. "Really, Noelle? You're gonna try to threaten me?"

"Not a threat."

Travis walked forward, counting on her to back away. And she almost did. For the last five years of their marriage, she had barely been able to stand him touching her for any reason. They'd fought over it, especially when Travis cruelly told her that he was "fully satisfied" without her "fulfilling her duties to him." It only confirmed her suspicions that he'd started another affair. He'd even taken to coming home smelling like another woman and looking like he'd climbed from that bed only moments ago. All of it worked on Noelle, making her shy away from close contact. He often invaded her personal space just to see her back away like a frightened child.

Today, though, she simply stared up at him. It cost her, and she hoped he didn't see the way her heart pounded or that her knees were shaking ever so slightly.

"Oh, yeah?" Travis asked, his minty breath hot in her face. "You called the cops?"

"What do you want, Travis?"

"To talk to your boyfriend."

Noelle wanted to correct him, to point out yet again that she and Will weren't dating. But it would do no good. Travis believed what he wanted to believe.

"Where is he, Noelle?"

She shrugged. "I honestly have no idea."

Travis laughed. "That's funny. You just made a joke. Because no one is that dumb!" His voice rose until he was shouting in her face. "You expect me to believe you don't know where the man you're. . . ."

A cleared throat interrupted his rant, and Travis glanced over his shoulder. Axel and Greta Wolff stood there, along with an armed sheriff. The law enforcement officer was quite a bit younger than Noelle's bosses, quite a bit larger than Travis, and quite furious. His hand rested on his nightstick. "Sir, I believe the lady gave you an answer."

Travis looked from Noelle to the sheriff and back. He laughed. "You sleepin' with him, too, Noelle? Huh?"

Noelle barely managed to hold on to her anger, maintaining the cold facade she'd put on the moment she arrived home. "Travis, just go home."

Travis snorted. "Oh, no, it's getting' too good, now. How many guys you sleepin' with, Noelle?"

"Zero."

The sheriff took another step forward. "The lady told you to leave. You leave now, or I arrest you for trespassing."

Travis huffed out another laugh. "We're not done," he told Noelle.

"Yes, you are," the sheriff responded.

Travis gave him another withering glare before he climbed into his car and sent gravel flying as he drove away. Noelle waited until the sound of the car vanished before she visibly wilted. Axel appeared at her side, putting a supporting arm around her shoulders while leading her toward the door. The sheriff followed, helping a puffing Greta, while Noelle unlocked the front door and let them all into her home.

She immediately waved Greta into a chair and headed for the kitchen. Her throat was dry, her head ached, and she just wanted a drink of water. Scratch that. She wanted a hot shower to wash any trace of Travis from her body. "I'm sorry. I just didn't know who to call and Will wasn't here and. . . ."

The sheriff raised his hand. "It's fine, ma'am. I'm Dane Winters. Anytime you need anything, give me a call." He eyed the front of her house. "Have you considered a restraining order?"

Noelle rolled her eyes. "He'd just ignore it."

"You'd have more legal cause to have him arrested." Winters shrugged. "Though, based on what I just saw, I could arrest him next time he comes for harassing you."

Noelle breathed a sigh of relief at that. At least she didn't have to explain that Travis would show up. Winters seemed to understand that. "I'll think about it. But I'm fairly sure I have a month before that happens."

Winters nodded and, after bidding everyone goodbye, left the property. Noelle watched him go and then turned to Greta and Axel. "Thank you for coming."

Greta waved her out of the kitchen, somewhat recovered from the stress that made her puff so badly a few moments before. "I told you to call." She opened Noelle's fridge as if she owned it. "You go clean up and relax a bit. From what I could see, that good-for-nothin' left you a bit rattled. I'll have dinner ready when you're done. And," she added, raising her voice and wagging her finger under Noelle's nose when the younger woman started to protest, "no lip from you."

Noelle's mouth snapped shut at that, and she nodded. She'd heard Greta put Axel in his place with that tone and knew arguing was pointless. Instead, she left Axel perusing the books and headed to the bathroom.

She seriously wanted to talk to Will. That surprised her, and she sighed. Maybe it was their friendship or that he knew the truth of what happened between her and Travis. It didn't matter. He was there, not here, and DC was a long ways away.

oOo

Travis didn't stop driving until he was out of town. Then, he pulled to the side of the road and dropped the angry exterior. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed and waited for the pick-up. "He's not here."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. She's not smart enough to lie."

"Watch your tone. She's still my daughter."

Travis snickered. "You gave up that right two years ago when you disowned her. Remember?"

A sigh came over the line. "Did she tell you where he is?"

"No."

"Keep an eye on her. He'll show up eventually, and I want to know when he does." The call disconnected.

Travis rolled his eyes and pulled back into traffic when he saw a sheriff's car headed his way. He made sure to obey every traffic law on the books as the sheriff passed him and then set the pace for the rest of the idiots on the road. He'd married Noelle Blake for one reason: her connections. Once he got those, he'd had no further use for her. She did provide some interesting diversions, though, particularly when she started protesting his many affairs. That only fueled his need to have them because, deep down, her fear and subjugation satisfied him more than anything else ever had.

oOo

Will had just wearily climbed into bed late Saturday night when his phone rang—his personal phone. Now that he was back on duty, the phone the IMF had given him via Ethan was the office's primary point of contact. He reached over, fumbling for the flip-phone, and opened it. "Hello?"

"Will?" Noelle sounded tired and slightly edgy.

He sat up. "Everything okay?"

She sighed. "It is now. Travis came today."

He remembered the last time Travis had come. "How are you?"

"I wish you were here. I wound up with Greta, Axel, and the sheriff out here." She paused for a long moment. "I probably shouldn't have called, but. . . ."

"Hey, it's okay." What is it with upset women and me? He couldn't stop the question from floating through his mind. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She snorted. "You would have been proud. He got in my face, and I didn't back down."

Will smiled at that. "Good girl," he said softly.

"Woof, woof."

Her quip made him laugh, and the tension flowed out of his shoulders as he realized she'd be alright. "How's everything else?"

"Quiet. You?"

He flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "You know. Work."

"Yeah." She seemed to smile. "Get some sleep, Will. You sound tired."

He smiled at that. "You, too. I mean—you get some rest. Not that you sound tired."

"I know." This time, she laughed. "Goodnight."

"Night." He hung up the phone, a smile still on his face. Strange how a simple phone call could help him relax. He'd have to remember that. . .after he got some sleep. He managed to rest well that night and spent most of Sunday doing minor errands and things like buying a few groceries and washing laundry. Now that he'd gone back to his life in the IMF, he couldn't help but feel the typical disconnect between his life and what he did to survive. The IMF was his life, hence why he hadn't allowed himself to fall for Noelle. What he did to survive included things like paying the bills, shopping for food, and cleaning his apartment.

The CIA files showed up on Monday. Will spent most of the day going through Agent Hanigan's cases, but, like he'd expected, a good number of them had been redacted. As an analyst and agent, he really did understand the need to keep things classified, but Oliver had been given his true security clearance back at the crime scene. It frustrated him and, after wasting time sorting through pages with more black on them than anything, Will finally sat back and rubbed his face. There wasn't enough here to compare to Amy Rastenburger's case files. In order to find a connection, another person had to die.

That sent Will's anger skyrocketing, and he clenched his fists as he worked to calm down. The last time he'd been this angry, he'd been in Dubai. Jane had just kicked Sabine Moreau out a window of the Burj Khalifa, and Will had managed to alienate the entire team in those moments. He couldn't do that now. He needed a clear head so he could focus. Not be worried about another death.

Putting the CIA files that they'd "shared" back into their folder, he sent an email to the Secretary informing him of the development. Then, Will took a walk. The fresh air helped clear his head, and he managed to finish the day without shouting at anyone or throwing anything that didn't need to be thrown.

oOo

Monday morning, Noelle arrived at work as usual. She found Greta in the kitchen of the restaurant, happily directing the morning crew as she huffed and puffed her way around. Noelle waited until she'd finished being bossy before moving to her side. "Thanks."

Greta gave her a smile. "I told you to call."

"I wasn't talking about showing up to get rid of Travis, though I'm glad you brought the sheriff." Noelle shrugged. "Thanks for sticking around."

"Honey, I could see what standing up to him took out of you." Greta patted her cheek. "Glad I was there. Wanted to kick him in the. . . ."

Axel interrupted his wife right then, much to Noelle's amusement. The mental image of Greta kicking Travis in a very sensitive location caused her to laugh. She shook her head as she went to work, which consisted of welcoming the few old-timers to the restaurant for breakfast. Greta had assured Noelle that business would pick up in the summer months, and she found herself hoping that, maybe, Will would come back sometime soon. She enjoyed talking with him, and the sound of his sleepy voice over the phone had soothed the residual agitation brought on by Travis's visit.

Around lunch time, business picked up again as a writer's group from a nearby town drove in for lunch. They co-opted a table in the rear of the restaurant and spent the time laughing and catching up. Laptops and notebooks came out after the women finished their lunches, and Noelle smiled as they typed, chatted, and laughed. She managed to overhear some of their conversation and suddenly wished she could sit down and talk to them. Their stories sounded interesting.

Then, Greta decided they needed afternoon tea. She'd already told Noelle not to charge them for it and had waddled into the kitchen. She appeared ten minutes later with a tray, complete with teapot, for the women and started their way.

Noelle frowned. She'd known Greta wasn't in the best health since she'd taken this job, but her boss looked gray. She started moving forward as Greta stopped in place. Sweat glistened off of her forehead as she swayed several times, the tea set falling from her hands. It crashed, drawing everyone's attention to it, as Greta tipped forward.

For Noelle, it happened in slow motion. She managed to catch Greta as she fell toward the shattered tea set, taking her bulk and cushioning the older woman's fall. She smacked her head on a chair on the way down and managed to bang her elbow against the tile floor. Axel saw his wife collapse from the front of the restaurant and hurried to her side.

One of the women in the writer's group pushed the others out of the way. "Call 911!" she snapped as she knelt next to Noelle and Greta. She met Noelle's eyes. "I'm a licensed EMT. May I look at her?"

Axel nodded, and the woman took Greta's pulse. She then turned to Noelle. "Lay her flat."

Noelle complied and scooted out of the way, moving to Axel's side and putting a hand on his shoulder. Her head ached badly from where she'd hit the chair, and her elbow throbbed. She watched, idly rubbing her elbow, as the paramedic started administering CPR. At that point, Axel started praying, and Noelle couldn't help but join him.

Seemingly a long time later, the ambulance arrived. Noelle knew it had only taken a few moments. Ephraim had several ambulances on stand-by due to the number of vacationers that came through, and those paramedics joined the woman from the writer's group in getting Greta into an ambulance. Axel rode with them while two others looked at Noelle. They determined that, while she had a knot on her head and a headache, she hadn't given herself a concussion. Her elbow, though, caused a bit of concern, so they put her in another ambulance and carted her off to the hospital as well.

Hours later, she found Axel in the ICU. He sat next to Greta's bedside, watching his wife struggle for her life. Noelle listened as he brokenly told her the diagnosis and then blinked when he asked her to run the B&B. He turned to look at her. "We'd planned on askin' you to manage the place for us anyway. Greta wants to travel, and I was gonna take her."

Noelle put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll take care of it. I promise."

Axel nodded, looking lost. "Thanks."

Knowing she had to get back home, Noelle left him with her phone number and accepted a ride from the first paramedic—a woman named Mel. Once at the now-closed B&B and her van, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

Will's warm voice from the other end brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't stop them any more than she could keep the wobble from her voice. "Will?"

"Noelle, what's wrong?" He sounded ready to jump on the next plane.

"It's Greta." She swiped at her running nose, wincing when it jarred her bruised elbow. "She collapsed at work today. Heart attack."

Will cursed. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry!" His endearment made Noelle smile as she knew he likely didn't realize he'd used it.

"It's worse." Noelle steadied herself by staring out the front window. "She's had several over the last few months. Doctors say it's chronic heart failure, pretty advanced. She's in ICU, and they're not sure if she'll make it."

Something, probably a pencil, hit a hard surface on the other end. "Just hang in there. I'm on my way."

Noelle ended the call a few moments later, feeling both chagrined and relieved. Will was coming. Even if he couldn't do anything to help Greta, he would be a great source of strength for Noelle. And she needed it right then. She knew she should have argued, should have told him to stay in DC, should have. . . .She couldn't. Right now, with Travis's visit so recent, she just didn't have the ability to get through this on her own.

~TBC